


part of a healthy balanced breakfast

by haleofStilesheart



Series: Tumblr Prompts [7]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Domesticity, First Kiss, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-06-30
Packaged: 2018-07-19 04:55:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7345786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haleofStilesheart/pseuds/haleofStilesheart
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>“That’s my cereal.”<br/>Stiles looked down at the bowl of cereal in front of him on the counter then raised his eyes to meet Derek’s. Swallowing his mouthful of Special K, Stiles snarked, “I noticed.”</em>
  <br/>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	part of a healthy balanced breakfast

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Anonymous](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anonymous/gifts).



> For the ❄ prompt: "That's my cereal."
> 
> [Send me a prompt!](http://hale-of-stiles-heart.tumblr.com/)

“That’s my cereal.”

Stiles looked down at the bowl of cereal in front of him on the counter then raised his eyes to meet Derek’s. Swallowing his mouthful of Special K, Stiles snarked, “I noticed.”

Derek cocked an unimpressed brow at Stiles, folding his arms over his chest. Stiles simply raised his eyebrows in return, issuing a silent challenge, spooning more cereal into his mouth. 

Rolling his eyes, Derek sighed, dropping his arms and walking the few feet to the coffee maker where a steaming pot of Colombian blend waiting. Stiles smirked in triumph, victoriously munching on Derek’s cereal as Derek poured himself a cup coffee. 

“When are you planning to head out?” Derek asked, settling his hip against the counter and raising his mug to take a sip of coffee. After the weekly pack movie marathon the previous night, Stiles had shot a quick text to his dad and fallen asleep on Derek’s couch. 

Stiles shrugged, finishing chewing before answering, “I was gonna stay for awhile. Is that alright?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Derek hummed, nodding his head as he drank his coffee, werewolf healing sparing him burns on his tongue. He turned to look out the wall of windows across the loft. 

It was still early, the sun still creeping up over the horizon, sky still a misty gray. It was Sunday so Stiles had nowhere to be, his dad probably already at the station. And Derek was well aware that coming home to an empty house held no appeal.

Turning back to Stiles, who was focused on finishing his bowl of stolen cereal, Derek examined his clothes. He was still in his baggy t-shirt and jeans from the previous night, flannel and shoes discarded to leave him in mismatched socks. 

Knowing how uncomfortable tight jeans could be, Derek suggested, “You can borrow some sweatpants if you want.”

Stiles’ head popped up, cheeks stuffed, making him look like an overexcited chipmunk. He nodded, cheeks jiggling comically. Derek snorted into his coffee mug.

Stiles finished his cereal, lifting the bowl to his mouth to drain it off milk, before standing to rinse it out, sliding past Derek to get to the sink. Bending to put the bowl in the dishwasher, Stiles asked, “You mind if I borrow a shirt too?”

Derek shook his head, throwing back the rest of his coffee before he answered, “Help yourself.”

Stiles straightened and took the empty mug from Derek’s hand, turning back to the sink to rinse it out. At Derek’s look of startled confusion, Stiles hastily apologized, “Oh, sorry. Did you want another cup?”

“Uh, no. No, I’m fine,” Derek replied, schooling his features. He scratched at his beard as he watched Stiles lean over to set Derek’s mug beside the bowl in the dishwasher, eyes lingering on the enticing shape of Stiles’ ass in his jeans. Shaking himself from his less than innocent observations, he announced, “I’m gonna take a shower. Help yourself to the sweatpants. And the shirt.”

“Alright, thanks, man,” Stiles replied, closing the dishwasher door and toweling his hands off. Derek nodded and moved to walk up the spiral staircase to the upstairs bathroom, leaving Stiles to get changed.

Derek quickly peeled off his tank top as he walked towards the bathroom, tossing it in the general direction of the pile of dirty clothes on the floor by the upstairs bed. He dropped his lounge pants, kicking them aside and stepping into the shower stall, having foregone any underwear the night before.

The water was scalding hot, not bothering him in the slightest as he scrubbed his hands through his hair, scratching his fingernails over his scalp. The steam helped clear his head to some degree, helping him wake up, but the thought of Stiles, naked and wet in the shower with him, crept to mind. 

He wondered what Stiles would do if he were the one showering, if he would touch himself,  _ how _ he would touch himself, if he’d jerk his cock or sneak a hand down between his legs to finger himself. He wondered what Stiles would look like as he came, cheeks flushed pink and big brown eyes lightly closed, what he would sound like, a soft gasp or a loud scream. 

With a small frustrated growl, Derek steeled himself and turned the handle from scaldingly hot to shockingly cold, inhaling sharply through his nose as the water pelted his back like frigid rain. He squeezed his eyes shut, clenched his hands into fists, trying to will away the lascivious thoughts of Stiles.

The cold water helped chase the half-baked fantasies away enough so that Derek could turn the handle again, warming the water. He massaged some shampoo into his hair, rinsing it out and lathering on some body wash, quickly and efficiently finishing his shower before anymore lewd thoughts came to mind. 

He hurriedly dried himself, tugging on a pair of black boxer briefs and comfy gray sweatpants. Finding only long sleeved Henleys and sweaters upstairs, he draped his towel around his shoulders and walked downstairs to grab a t-shirt. He was toweling his hair, walking down the spiral staircase when he froze in his tracks. 

Stiles was still changing, pulling his t-shirt off, revealing the pale expanse of his back. Dark moles were generously sprinkled across the planes of his back like earthbound constellations. A few faded scars adorned his skin; some resembled claw marks, others splintering bolts of lightning. 

Derek stared in awe at the play of rippling muscle in Stiles’ back as he moved, at the undeniable beauty of Stiles’ smooth skin despite, or even because of, the scars that were scattered over it. 

Stiles tugged a gray t-shirt on over his head, pulling Derek from his reverent musing. Blinking, Derek focused on the task at hand and continued down the stairs, resuming the motion of the hand drying his hair. 

When Stiles heard the soft pad of Derek’s bare feet on the stairs, he turned his head. And abruptly froze. 

His eyes widened as he stared at Derek’s bare torso, following the path of water droplets as they ran down his chest, steam still rising from his skin. 

He snapped back to reality when Derek walked past him and casually asked, “You alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” Stiles responded. He then snorted and teased, “Did you change out of one pair of sweatpants into another?”

“It’s Sunday,” Derek returned, digging through the small drawer beside the downstairs bed and grabbing a t-shirt “I have nothing to do, nowhere to be, and I’m a grown man so if I want to wear sweatpants all day, I damn well will.”

“Well, ya got me there,” Stiles conceded. He glanced at Derek from the corner of his eye. He was still drying his hair, wiping his chest dry with the other half of the towel. Unable to resist, Stiles instructed, “C’mon and dry off, it’s starting to smell like wet dog in here.”

Derek audibly snapped his teeth together in response, sending Stiles into a wild fit of amused laughter. He smirked as he pulled on the black t-shirt he’d grabbed, carelessly tossing his damp towel onto the bed, opting to let his hair finish drying naturally.

Stiles plopped down on the couch and grabbed his phone from the end table as Derek returned to the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal. Derek carried the bowl with him over to the couch where he sat down and turned the TV on, eating as he half-watched the six o’clock news.

“Dad says hi,” Stiles remarked, checked his messages. Derek nodded, smiling softly, trying to refrain from conspicuously preening.

He finished his cereal, setting the empty bowl on the coffee table and grabbing the newspaper he’d been saving for a few days. He immediately flipped to the crossword puzzle, swiping a pen off the coffee table.

Derek had finished a quarter of the puzzle when he heard Stiles shift, moving to lay down on the couch rather than just sit, knees bent, his toes brushing against Derek’s thigh. Noticing the way Stiles continued to fidget, the position not very comfortable, Derek sighed and lifted Stiles’ feet by the ankle to rest them in his lap. 

Stiles squeaked in surprise, flailing a bit until Derek raised a brow at him. He settled deeper into the couch cushions, getting as comfy as possible. Derek kept a hand on Stiles’ ankle, his thumb absently running over the thin skin as he resumed the crossword puzzle.

They remained in companionable silence until Derek found himself stumped on a clue, muttering, “Polish endearment?”

Stiles snorted, earning a half-hearted glare from the corner of Derek’s eye. Responding to a text from Erica about the next movie night, Stiles asked, “How many letters?”

Derek counted the small boxes. “Eight.”

“Try kochanie,” Stiles suggested before spelling the word aloud for Derek who jotted it down in the margin before comparing it to the puzzle, verifying letters he’d gotten from other answers. Stiles, curious as ever, inquired, “It fit?”

“Mmm-hmm,” Derek hummed, moving on to the next clue. “Thank you.”

“Sure thing, big guy,” Stiles beamed, typing furiously to explain to Scott in the pack group chat that a monster movie marathon wouldn’t be very well received, especially not by Derek and Peter both of whom had lived with the stigma of werewolves being mindless killing machines their entire lives. Boyd had quickly chimed in and agreed that it would be incredibly insensitive.

“Didn’t know you spoke Polish,” Derek commented, filling in another answer and crossing off the clue.

Stiles shrugged. “Yeah, well I’m a regular man of mystery. Hidden talents and all that.”

“Who taught you?” Derek asked, still absorbed in his puzzle.

Stiles hesitated, debated answering for a minute but finally, finding no real risk in telling Derek, replied, “My mom.”

Derek’s eyes snapped up as he tensed, looking extremely remorseful. He quickly launched into damage control, claiming, “Shit. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have―”

“Dude, it’s fine,” Stiles interjected before Derek gave himself an aneurysm. Derek turned to look at him, still looking extremely guilty. Stiles assured him, “It’s fine. I promise.”

He offered Derek a small smile he hoped was reassuring, genuinely unbothered by the mention of his mother. Had anyone else asked he would have avoided answering, would have avoided the inevitable additional questions concerning his mother. But with Derek there was a sense of morbid camaraderie.  _ Birds of a feather _ , he mused.

Stiles turned back to his phone as Derek resumed his crossword puzzle, the TV providing a buzz of background noise. Derek’s thumb continued its gentle stroking over Stiles’ ankle in an oddly erotic caress, alternating between rubbing circles into his skin and letting his thumb drift lazily side-to-side. On one such stroke over his ankle, Derek’s thumb just barely grazing over his skin, Stiles’ breath caught in his throat as a bolt of arousal jolted through him. 

He could tell the moment Derek knew because his head shot up and he turned sharply to look at Stiles.

Feeling himself flush, face growing hot, Stiles fumbled to stand from the couch, swinging his feet off Derek’s lap, declaring, “I uh, I’m gonna grab some coffee!”

He left his phone on the couch and practically ran to the kitchen for the sole purpose of hiding from Derek’s critical gaze. He felt like an idiot, like some horny teenager: popping a boner at the slightest provocation.

Stiles buried his face in his hands, resting his elbows on the counter, keeping his back to Derek on the couch. He tried to even out his breathing, tried to calm his heart rate.

All his efforts were extinguished when he heard footsteps behind him.

Stiles whipped around to find Derek only a few scant feet away, his heart pounding against his ribcage. Derek’s eyes were half-lidded as he looked at Stiles, lips parted slightly.

Stiles backed up further against the countertop as Derek walked forward, placing his hands on the counter, bracketing Stiles’ hips, caging him in. Yet, Stiles wasn’t afraid. He was at the mercy of the Big Bad Wolf but was more excited, more hopeful than he’d ever been before.

Derek lifted a hand to brush this thumb over Stiles’ cheek, softly asking, “Is this okay?”

Stiles nodded dumbly, acting purely on impulse. Derek leaned closer, tilting his head to the side to press his lips to Stiles’.

Stiles moaned into Derek’s mouth, lifting his hands to set them on Derek’s shoulders as the kiss deepened. Derek moved his own hands to Stiles’ waist as he inched closer, boldly pressing his hips against Stiles’. 

Humming as he savored the taste of Stiles’ lips, Derek slid his hands down to Stiles’ thighs, relishing in Stiles’ shocked gasp when Derek dragged his palms over the soft globes of his ass. Tugging gently to silently inform Stiles of his plan, Derek began lifting him.

Perceptive as ever, Stiles wrapped his legs around Derek’s waist, tightening his grip on Derek’s shoulders. Derek very reluctantly broke the kiss to begin the walk across the loft to his bed, wanting Stiles under him as soon as possible. Stiles was quick to refocus his efforts on scattering lazy kisses down Derek’s neck. Derek walked faster.

He gently laid Stiles on the bed, bracing himself over him. Stiles was a vision. His cheeks were rouged, lips pink and wet, eyes half-lidded as they gazed up at Derek.

Derek leaned down to kiss him again, sliding his fingers under the hem of the t-shirt Stiles was wearing, teasing at the trail of hair leading down to the waistband of his borrowed sweats. Stiles hummed contentedly against Derek’s lips, looping his arms around Derek’s neck.

Breaking the kiss, Derek looked down at the beautiful creature beneath him. Brushing an eyelash off Stiles’ cheek, Derek huskily whispered, “Wanna spend a couple hours finding out where else you’re sensitive?”

Derek inclined his head to drag his nose down the side of Stiles’ neck. Stiles breathed, “Mmm… Lazy morning sex?”

Derek grinned against the column of Stiles’ throat and answered, “Yeah. Then energetic shower sex.”

“Ambitious,” Stiles murmured as Derek began sucking a hickey into his skin. “Will there be a snack break?”

“Sure,” Derek agreed, lifting his head. “I have plenty of cereal.”


End file.
